


Keep Your Enemies Closer

by matterbaby



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mafia AU, Minor Character Death, Obi is Spock because Star Wars doesn't exist yet, Period-Typical Homophobia, Repressed Bisexuality, also i love 60's culture so i'm dumping as much as i can in one story, sexual tension times twelve, shane is the sexiest mafia boss out there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 17:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20246881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matterbaby/pseuds/matterbaby
Summary: Ryan Bergara, son to the boss of La Eme, is suddenly thrust into a leadership position when his father is shot at a wedding. The person behind the killing is obvious to Ryan, but after his accusation is wrong, he has to work with the head of his family’s twenty-year enemy, The Madej Family, to figure out who killed Steven Bergara, and why they framed The Madejs.





	Keep Your Enemies Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yliegestu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yliegestu/gifts).

> I tried my best to maintain a certain historical accuracy with this fic but I definitely took some creative liabilities. Specifically, La Familia de Bergara (called La Eme), which is based off of the California Mexican Mafia (La Eme), the Mexikanemi, and Los Zetas (essentially la eme, but Texas based). Didn’t feel like erasing Ryan’s heritage by making it Italian anyways, even though that’s The Aesthetic. 
> 
> **also i know Shane’s not Italian either, but there’s only so many rules I can bend, y’all**
> 
> Also, lots of spanish insults and phrases are used throughout interactions between members of La Eme. I’ll leave a couple of translations here, but you might wanna have google translate on standby.  
Pendejo: Dumbass  
Marica/Maricón: Fag, sissy  
Puta: Bitch  
Cabrón: Bastard  
Pinche: Fucking
> 
> Warnings: Heavy violence, casual homophobic talk (quite a bit of it), Also, I don’t condone smoking, that shit nasty, but it was the 60’s babey. What’re you gonna do yk

—— Part I ——

  
  


Another glass of wine was shoved into Ryan’s hands as he moved plates and cups off the table to stand on it. 

Maybe he was a tiny bit drunk. Maybe he shouldn’t be standing on the white tablecloth of an expensive wedding venue. And maybe, just maybe, he should’ve left the gun in his back pocket at home. But that was neither here nor there as he used a fork to tap against his glass, quickly getting everyone’s attention. The dancing ceased, and he directed everyone’s attention to his father, who was standing from his seat at the bride and groom’s table. “Ay, putas!” There was a chorus of laughter at his statement, the loudest coming from Velasquez. “Listen up! My father’s got somethin’ to say.” 

He got off the table, Lee Yang shaking his head slightly at him. Ryan only shrugged and took his place between his two closest friends. He was surprised at how sober they both were; there wasn’t exactly a shortage of alcohol. Lee Yang kept going on about how you have to wait until  _ after  _ dinner, that’s when the party actually gets started. Velasquez, on the other hand, wouldn’t shut up about this “bad feeling” he’s had all night, and seemed insistent on not getting shitfaced. 

He promises their decisions didn’t influence him  _ that  _ much. And he had, after all, only recently obtained his third glass of wine. He’s definitely gotten much worse much faster in the past. Velasquez threw an arm around Ryan’s shoulder, all three looking towards Ryan’s dad. “So, Ry-guy.”

“I’m literally  _ begging _ you Curly, please stop calling me that.”

“Is your other cousin still off-limits?”

“Is my — are you kidding me? Of course my fuckin’ cousin’s still off-limits, man, she’s like, nineteen!”

“It’s legal,” he shrugged. 

“Yeah, yeah, shut up now.” Ryan noticed the way Curly snickered at him, but refused to give in to his teasing. He had important things to focus on. 

Steven Bergara lifted his champagne glass high, smiling wide. “Good afternoon, Bergaras and Garcias. Can I have everyone’s attention for a quick moment? I’d like to say a few words about my beautiful niece here, if you don’t mind.” Everyone cheered for him; Ryan, Curly and Eugene whooped and hollered like a trio of assholes, and nobody minded one bit. At a Bergara wedding, it’d be weird if you  _ weren’t  _ shouting like you won the lottery. “Now, I’ve known this young lady from the moment she came into this world. Since then she’s been one of the funniest people I’ve ever met, and by far the strongest. I mean, she defeated  _ One Shot  _ in an arm-wrestling match!” Steven pointed at Eugene with that declaration, the crowd turning to laugh as he crossed his arms and pouted. “And even today, on the most important day of her life, she still continues to kick ass and put pendejos in their place on a daily basis. So, here’s a toast! To my niece, the most—” 

His speech was stopped short when three gunshots went off. The whole building erupted into panic as Steven Bergara, Boss of La Eme, _ La Familia de Bergara,  _ collapsed with three red dots on his shirt growing steadily larger.

Ryan was the first to move. He pushed past family members and strangers alike, falling to his knees beside his father. Jake and his mother also rushed over, clearing the area as Ryan desperately tried to apply pressure to the wounds. “Dad! Padre! C’mon, don’t fucking— don’t you  _ dare  _ die! Pull through, Dad! Talk to me!” 

He didn’t answer. Ryan kept shouting, trying to get a reaction,  _ any reaction.  _ None came. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see his mother, tears in her eyes, shaking her head. “He’s gone, baby. They hit his heart.” 

Those were the only words Ryan needed for the rage to kick in. He stood up, pulled his gun out of the inside of his suit jacket, raised it in the air, and shouted, “I want you to search every motherfucker in the building until we find who killed my father! I will have blood running down the fucking  _ streets  _ if you don’t find them,  _ now!” _

That put everyone into action. Knives and pistols appeared from suit pockets and dresses like it was a magic show, and people were running in all directions, hundreds of threats being yelled in a variety of languages. Ryan turned back to his family, where Jake hugged his sobbing mother, and his father was still lying on the ground. The shouting faded away to a dull ringing in Ryan’s ears as he took a step forward, shoved down his emotions, and closed his father’s eyes. “I swear, dad. I swear on everything I hold dear that I’ll find this motherfucker, and deliver them the most painful death man’s ever fuckin’ seen.” 

“Ay! Ryan, I found something.” Daysha pushed her way through the crowd, now standing in front of Ryan. She was holding a small card in her hand— a calling card. Ryan picked it up hesitantly. It was a sturdy cream card, the only thing on it an excessively intricate cursive  _ M.  _

Ryan felt his blood boil.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Eugene and Curly were at his side again, both of them highly concerned. “If this is who I think it is, on God, I’m gonna shit my pants.”

“Show me that,” Eugene demanded. He handed the card to his friend, who ran a finger over it before giving it back. Curly had been looking over Eugene’s shoulder and laughed, the first sound anywhere close to happiness since the shots were fired. “Man oh man, would I love to see the face of the fuckin’ marica who has shit like this lying around.

“You said you think you know who it is?” Eugene asked, while Curly already had a hand on the knife in his belt.

“Think?” Ryan laughed harshly. “I fucking  _ know  _ who it is. Come with me, both of you. Lim! Look after my mother while I’m gone.” He raised his voice to address the rest of the patrons, the attention of the whole room focused on him. “Continue the fucking wedding! We’re not ruining my little cousin’s big day just because some  cabrón got all trigger happy.”

Without another word, Ryan, Curly and Velasquez were on their way. 

\----------

Ryan had walked directly past every suited person yelling at him in the Casino, was even being trailed by a number of people by the time he pushed open the two mahogany doors leading to the office. At the desk sat a man, feet crossed on the desk, lounging backward in his (seemingly expensive) chair. The table scraps of laughter still hung around his eyes— obvious he’d been joking with whoever he was speaking to. When he saw the trio enter the room, though, he hung up immediately, without so much as a goodbye to whoever was on the other line. 

The man dressed sharply; he wore a black and gray, pinstriped, slim-fit suit that screamed  _ big money,  _ and his white collared shirt had three buttons undone (Ryan noticed the smooth, pale skin underneath). Peeking out from beneath that shirt was a gold chain that found a way to shine despite the dimness of the room. The watch on his wrist was classy — looked to be Breguet at first glance— and his shoes were classic Italian leather, polished to the point where Ryan could see his reflection. They could be in a fucking cafe, and Ryan would be able to tell this man lead one of New York’s most powerful crime families.

“Ah, to what do I owe a pleasurable visit from  _ La Familia?  _ You guys put down the tequila long enough to come beg for friendship yet?” He pointed his cigar directly at Ryan, infuriating grin plastered across his face. “Or maybe you wanted to get a good look at this beautiful mug?” 

“You fuckin’ wish,  _ Madej.  _ We’re here because we know what you —”

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down there, B. Why don’t you take a seat?” This time Madej gestured towards the two chairs in front of his desk, still using his cigar like a goddamn pointing stick. “Oh, and would you mind if these two…  _ friends  _ of yours stepped outside? Don’t think we need the buddy system for a conversation.”

Curly and Eugene looked at each other for a few seconds, but eventually, Eugene sighed and led the way outside the door. This was the first time Ryan took note of the two people standing by the door. Both were well dressed with 9mm M12’s held across their chest, fingers much too close to the trigger for Ryan to be comfortable. One was a white guy around Ryan’s height, with dirty blond hair, hazel eyes devoid of emotion, and the kind of strong stubble most men  _ wished  _ they could pull off. The second was a girl who was taller than both the man  _ and  _ Ryan. Her blond, wavy hair was mildly obscured by her black bowler, dark brown eyes showing much more emotion than the man’s. Ryan wasn’t sure which he really preferred, considering the fact that she looked like she’d pump their lungs full of lead at the drop of a hat, and enjoy every second of it.

“Darragh, Ilnyckyj, you can leave us now. Make sure Bergara’s pals don’t get lost.” The smile on Madej’s face made Ryan take a second look over his shoulder before he sat down, reluctantly, crossing one leg over his knee and leaning back. He might as well make himself comfortable— helped with the confidence he did his best to project. “Okay, good, we’re all nice and comfy now. Please proceed.”

Ryan heard the door close behind him, which made his heart rate pick up the smallest amount, but he swallowed it down and instead pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. “I know what you did, Madej. This fuckin’ faux friendliness isn’t doin’ anything to hide it.” He made direct eye contact with Madej as he lit the cigarette dangling from his mouth. The room gained a weird energy then, Madej’s amber eyes reflecting the flame, pupils dilating slightly. Ryan inhaled deeply and let the smoke leave his mouth as he spoke his next words. “I don’t know what you were trying to pull by leaving a calling card, but maybe next time you come to me, we hash it out with guns or knives, yeah?” His voice had lowered significantly, in a kind of involuntary way. If he squinted, it looked like Madej swallowed hard, but he wasn’t entirely sure. There was still smoke rising up from the forgotten cigar in his hand, perhaps obscuring the view. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Bergara.” 

“No idea?” He laughed harshly, looked away from Madej as he took a long drag. He exhaled lazily, letting his attention wander to the way the smoke drifted through the air, then made eye contact with the man once more. “Yeah, okay. We both know you were the one behind this, so let’s talk facts. I get it, my dad was a pretty infuriating guy for your family. But shooting him at my cousin’s wedding? That’s fuckin’  _ low,  _ Madej. I thought you guys had at least a  _ little  _ bit of respect for that shit.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Madej put a hand out as if to stop him, shifting in his seat so he was more relaxed, but also sat forward more. “Someone shot _Steve? _We had nothing to do with that. The only shit we’ve done today so far is shoot a couple of guys down at the docks, for irrelevant reasons. I haven’t heard a thing about this wedding, let alone what happened to your father. I’d say give my congratulations to your cousin, but I don’t think that this is the best time.” 

“Cut the shit, Legs. You’re the only group starting with M that has an issue with us.” Ryan fished the card out of his pocket at that, pointedly ignoring Madej’s piercing gaze. When he finally got it, he threw it onto the desk, one eyebrow raised as he nodded towards it. “Maybe one of your guys was feelin’ cocky, or he was just plain sloppy and dropped this. Regardless, I can tell that’s yours.”

Madej picked it up with furrowed eyebrows. He put on a pair of glasses that had been laying on the desk and drew the cigar to his mouth as he examined it. Finally, he huffed out a laugh and threw it back on the desk, less aggressively than Ryan had. “That’s not one of mine. If we wanna make it clear, we don’t leave calling cards like we’re in those damn Silver Shroud comics. Besides, your crew goes by  _ La Eme, _ one of  _ your  _ signs is an M. How do you know this isn’t from one of your guys?” 

Ryan let out a wheezing laugh at that suggestion, slapping his hand on the desk as his whole body shook with laughter. “You’re kiddin’ me, right? You ever talked to one of my guys, Legs?” Madej nodded hesitantly, confusion spelled out across his face in capital letters. “Then take one look at that card, and tell me you think one of mine would have some pansy shit like that. We leave our name in blood, not calligraphy. What’re you trying to suggest here, man? Someone from  _ my  _ crew killed my dad? Because I don’t know about you, but my family actually has a sense of loyalty.” 

Something changed in Madej’s eyes, instantly going from warm to cold as steel. He stood up to his full height and leaned over the desk, hands splayed in a way that made Ryan feel caged. He had to crane his neck up to look at Madej like this, realizing for the first time that this fucker is  _ tall.  _ Ryan couldn’t help the way he gulped, a new tension floating through the air that sped up his pulse. “I want you to listen up and listen close, Bergara.” Madej’s voice was low enough that the people outside the door wouldn’t be able to hear even if they wanted to. “I don’t like you stormin’ in here and throwing these accusations at me. Far as I know, we haven’t had any serious beef since I became the boss, and I sure as hell had no reason to take out your father. He hasn’t been a threat to me.” He reached a hand out so that one finger barely touched Ryan’s chin, tilting his head to the side as he whispered in his ear. “If you think you can just come into my office and say this shit to me, I’d suggest callin’ a doctor to remove the bullets in your brain.” 

Ryan’s hands tightened into fists as Madej pulled away, now sitting back down. “Okay. Fine. I don’t know what you want me to do here, Madej. You want me to apologize? Because I will, if you want some of that kindergartener shit. The fact of the matter is, my fucking father’s lyin’ on the floor of the restaurant right now, with three bullets in his chest, and a blood-soaked speech he only got halfway through. I’m just covering my bases here. You seemed like the most obvious choice.” 

Ryan brought the cigarette to his lips, deliberately blowing the smoke so it would go in Madej’s face. He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, Madej sighed and crossed his feet on the desk. “Alright. Fine. You were… somewhat justified in your leap to my family being guilty. And you’re right that there’s not many other gangs in the area that would want Steven Bergara dead. People consider killing other members of La Eme, sure, but  _ everyone _ loved Steve. That leaves us with two options. Either, one of my guys was acting privately, and was dumb enough to leave a hint, or someone was trying to frame the Madejs.” 

“Which do you think?”

Madej let the burning end of the cigar rest against the ashtray, now biting gently on his bottom lip. Ryan couldn’t bring himself to draw his eyes away from the flesh trapped between his teeth, slightly reddening under the pressure. “Maybe both, but I’m leaning towards the whole framing thing. Whoever it was sure ain’t all that good at what they do, though, if they think I’d leave that bullshit behind.”

“Okay. That’s good to hear. I’ll…” Ryan sighed and ran his free hand down his face, already feeling the beginning of a migraine coming on. “I’ll look into it. Our mutual enemies, ones who specifically had beef with my dad…” he was in the middle of speaking when an idea slapped him in the face, his eyes lighting up as he realized. “Oh! I’ve got an idea.” 

“Hmm? Please, indulge me. What’s this idea of yours?” Madej tilted his head in a way that made the light from the single lamp in the room illuminate the side of it, slight stubble only accentuating his strong jawline. 

“You’ve only recently come to be the boss, right? Couple years ago? So we should focus on anybody who doesn’t like the new management.” 

He laughed and smiled, the approval in his eyes making Ryan almost want to seek it out —  _ almost.  _ He reminded himself that he was Ryan Fucking Bergara, and didn’t need,  _ want, _ approval or praise from anyone. “The hothead’s got some brains to him, too? That’s always a fun time.” Madej brought the cigar back up to his lips, never once breaking eye contact. “I’ll tell you what, Bergara. I wanna work with you on this.”

“You —  _ what?  _ You wanna work with  _ me?  _ Why?”

“I have a few reasons.” He blew the smoke in Ryan’s face, his eyes holding a mischievous glint.  _ That bastard. _ “First and foremost, this guy’s a problem for the both of us. I wanna make sure my family’s safe just as much as you do. Second of all… you seem smart, Bergara. I have a feeling you might be one of the only men in La Eme I could work on somethin’ like this with.” 

Ryan absolutely did  _ not  _ feel his cheeks heat up at the compliment, because Bergaras don’t fucking blush (even if all other parties would testify otherwise). “Those your only reasons?”

“Well…” Madej looked genuinely indecisive, like he was carefully working out whether he should say his next words or not. “From what I’ve heard, you’re next in line to be the boss. Not just because you’re Steven’s kid, but because you’ve actually got the shit it takes. Trying to deal with something like this  _ and  _ a shift of power? I’d rather be helping you out, makin’ sure nothing gets overlooked.” 

“Aww, you’re looking out for me now, Madej?”

“I— what? No! It’s just in my best interest to do so.” 

“Mhm, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Madej sighed out of frustration, one hand running through his hair. Ryan’s eyes followed the movement involuntarily. “You’re makin’ me seriously consider retracting my offer.” 

“Am I?”

“...No, but you’re still… ugh. Whatever. I’ll tell you what. Take this card,” he reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a black business card with nothing but a string of numbers on it. “Go sort out the more… pressing matters with your family, and give me a call when you’re ready to get to business. In the meantime, I’ll have Tiny help me out and get the names of everyone that had any issues with me coming into power.” 

Ryan nodded and stood. He wasn’t too sure what drove his next actions, but he leaned across the desk, held Madej’s eyes, and put his cigarette out in Madej’s ashtray. They were only an inch or two away when Ryan spoke. “Sounds like a pleasure. Until next time, Madej.” 

Ryan reached his hand out to shake, now straightening up. Madej’s grip was firm. “Until next time.”

\----

Curly and Eugene would not stop asking questions. 

As they waited for their driver to arrive , who’d undeniably be driving a  Chevrolet Corvair Monza,  h e tried to explain the gist of the conversation. “So, first of all, it’s not the Madejs.”

“How do you know he wasn’t lying?” Eugene asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I just know,” he answered, not eager to share some details of the exchange. “That’s not the important part.”

“Well, what  _ is,  _ B?” Curly tugged at his shirt collar as he whined, muttering to himself about  _ damn suits  _ being  _ way too fucking constricting.  _

“Why does everybody keep callin’ me ‘B?’ Cut that shit out! It’s gross, and… just fuckin’ weird, man.” He saw Curly open his mouth and cut him off before any sound could get out. “And don’t you  _ dare  _ call me Ry-guy either, Viper, or I’ll eat your fuckin’ head for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Damn, Ryan. What’s got you so uptight?” 

Ryan ignored his friends as the Chevrolet with peeling black paint pulled up to the curb. He got in the backseat with Eugene, leaving the front seat to Curly (“if I have to sit next to this pendejo for another second I’m gonna blow his brains out”). “The important part, since you so rudely interrupted me, is that there are two things we know. One, the possibility of the guy bein’ on either one of our sides is  _ really  _ low.” 

“And? What’s the second?” Eugene said, boredom dripping from every syllable. 

Ryan gulped and looked out the window, unwilling to face his friends as he said the next few words. “After all the political shit’s sorted out, and the power transfer’s over… I’ll be working on this case with Madej.”

\----------------

All of the intricate politics behind a power transfer— especially one so sudden— will, without a doubt, take months to become the usual background noise they’re used to. It’ll most likely be at least half a year before people truly accept and respect Ryan as their true leader. But for now, he was, in the eyes of all those in power in La Eme, the rightful leader, and was therefore allowed to determine the verdict on nearly every decision. 

The first decision he made was on transportation.

He sold everyone of their rusty Chevrolets and replaced them with shiny, black Maserati Quattroportes with lots of legroom and tinted windows (Ryan had been urging his dad to get La Eme some sort of uniform car for a while, and once he spotted someone with one of these new models, his heart was set). 

Secondly, now that he knew he’d be arriving everywhere in style, he had a few minor political changes to make. He made Velasquez his right-hand man— lord knows the bastard was ruthless enough to handle it— and he made Lee Yang his adversary, a man who had some of the biggest brains in La Eme. He worked out his father’s will, collected life insurance, donated funds to the local police academy (they were already in their good graces, but it couldn’t help to have something else under their belt). He spoke to every captain, ensured nobody was slacking. 

It would take a while for everything to settle, but for now, the foundation was built. 

Ryan was confident of this fact, which is why, as he sat at the desk in his empty office, he stared down the stark white business card, and the numbers printed on it. There wasn’t even a name— the number, and nothing but. There was a moment of hesitation— would Madej even remember their conversation?— but Ryan did, eventually, work up the courage to dial it. 

It rang 13 times, and at the precise second Ryan was about to give up, he heard a voice on the other line speak up. It wasn’t Madej’s voice, but that of a young woman— Ryan would place her at around 20, 25 at the oldest. “Hello, please state your name and business.”

  
Ryan couldn’t hold back his eye roll at that, crossing one leg over his knee as he settled in his desk chair. “This is Bergara. He should know exactly what my business is.”

“O-oh! Mr. Bergara, hello, he’s been waiting for your call. I was told to say this when you called: ‘Paesano’s, on Mulberry. 11:00, sharp.’ That’s all he wrote.”

Ryan grumbled to himself, thinking of how badly he wanted this semi-alliance (acquaintanceship at best). “You tellin’ me legs is trying to make  _ me  _ go to fuckin’ Little Italy?”

The woman didn’t answer at first, but Ryan had a feeling she was shrugging. “I’m not sure, sir. That was all he wrote— oh! Sorry, he wrote something on the back, too.” There was another moment of silence as she flipped over whatever paper she was speaking from. “‘Let Bergara know he shouldn’t bring any friends. I’ll be alone, too. He just has to tell the guy at the desk he’s here for private dining. They’ll know exactly what he means.’”

In the time that she was speaking, Ryan started running a hand through his hair— mostly in frustration, or so he told himself. It didn’t have  _ anything  _ to do with the fact that he was going to a romantic Italian restaurant to dine  _ alone _ with Madej. “Okay, fine. I’ll get my shit together for then. By the way, what’s your name?”

“My name? Oh! I’m Sara, hi.” 

Ryan smiled and chuckled to himself. “Hey there, Sara. Let Madej know to save my seat.” 

He hung up then, already feeling absorbed deep in thought. Was this just Madej being ignorant, with how out of place he’d be? Or was he deliberately having this meeting on his territory? Did this mean he didn’t trust Ryan? 

He couldn’t tell if he should be offended or pleased.

All the same, he glanced down at his watch— a quarter past seven— and started to plan. He had his theories, obviously. Ryan  _ always  _ had his theories (which he thinks is one of the reasons he was left in charge. He never left any loose ends, never left any possibilities unexplored). He had a manilla folder full of possible suspects— men and women both who have ( _ had _ ) issues with his dad, or La Eme in general. It seemed like they’d been hoping for a chaotic void of power following his dad’s shooting, which helped Ryan. They obviously weren’t anybody too close to the top, or they’d know La Eme doesn’t roll the dice with shit like power. In two weeks, in fact, Ryan’s to talk with the board about who would be in charge, should he meet his untimely end. 

He made sure to write down notes on each person— nearly two full pages for every one— and had a smaller list of all their ties and connections. It was only preliminary research, insurance that he wouldn’t show up to this meeting looking like a complete dumbass, but it was better than nothing. He set this folder down on his desk, now shifting his mental focus towards something else: his outfit. 

Ryan’s study was one of the many rooms in his apartment overlooking the southside of Union Square. He took great pride in his apartment— one of the finest examples of modern interior design; wood-paneled walls that contrasted quite nicely with the marble flooring; chairs in couches that alternated between mustard and navy. All the furniture was the same polished pine, save for the glass coffee table in the center of his living room. The rooms had a consistent theme of blues, yellows, whites, and greys, including his study. 

His study was, in fact, one of the best-decorated rooms in his house. A large window had the perfect view of the Union Square park, and his shelves were in line with his theme of pine wood. His bookshelves were filled to the brim with various novels and binders of information— and don’t get him  _ started  _ on those meticulously organized filing cabinets. Each drawer was locked, the keys to  _ those  _ locked in Ryan’s private desk drawer, to which he had in his wallet at all times. The door to the study locked, too, the key to  _ that  _ residing on Ryan’s keychain. 

Ryan Bergara was nothing if not thorough and prepared. On a daily amount of Xanax to curb his desperately hidden anxiety, he followed every ounce of paranoia in his mind and followed it through eighty times, until he was sure that whatever he previously considered as a threat was no more than a flea to a lion. 

Ryan Bergara also believed that, due to those facts, he was responsible for his father’s death. 

Because really, shouldn’t he have had someone at the door, checking people’s names, ensuring the guest list was in top shape? Shouldn’t they have had more protection, more bodyguards, more men at all the entrances looking over his baby cousin’s wedding? He  _ always  _ thought through  _ all of it,  _ why was he so foolish the one time it seemed to have mattered?

He locked those thoughts away at the same time he locked the cabinet keys in the drawer, though. Left them to be opened when he didn’t have business to deal with. He picked up the phone on his desk again, this time dialing a much more familiar number. 

Lee Yang was knocking at his door in less than five minutes. 

There were a few reasons he called Eugene instead of Curly. There was the obvious one, that Curly had such a negative disposition towards the Madejs that his advice would no doubt be tainted. That, and Eugene had always been the most fashionable of the three. Ryan trusted him the most with planning an outfit for tonight, not because he didn’t know how to dress (which always included only  _ the best  _ designer suits), but because he had no fucking clue what to wear to this specific event. It’s not every day you’re going out to 11:00 dinner with the leader of one of your family’s long-running casual enemies. 

He wasn’t even halfway through his explanation of everything before Eugene was walking past him, directly to his bedroom to rifle through his closet. “So, Legs. Tell me about him.”

Their first meeting flashed through Ryan’s head at breakneck speed, the thoughts weirdly focused on images of amber eyes reflecting the flame of a lighter, and chapped lips moving slowly through a smoky haze. “He’s… well whatever impression you got of him at first, was probably very correct. Very snarky, sarcastic guy. Expensive taste. But he’s also got somethin’ to him, that makes you wanna know more, if that makes sense. Real mystery, that guy. I also think he’s got a sweetheart in him somewhere, if I’m honest, but I’m sure if I asked him he’d shoot me in the leg.”

Eugene nodded once, then turned to look at Ryan. “Don’t tell me you… feel a certain way about him. If you’re into men, that’s a whole other conversation, that I’ll save for later, but  _ please  _ don’t be into Madej like that.”

Ryan thought if his eyes went any wider, his eyelids would probably retract into his head and get lost somewhere in there (“all that empty space,” his dad would’ve said while tapping on his temple). “The fuck you insinuating here, Eugene? You think I’m-I’m some fuckin’ fairy? Do I  _ look _ like one to you?”

Eugene rolled his eyes at that, pulling out a black button-up shirt that most likely had cost $90. “Cut it with that bullshit, Ryan. You’re just parroting what you’ve heard from all the guys around here. Like I said earlier, though, just… don’t let it be Madej. Two bosses getting together like that? You’re on your  _ knees  _ begging for trouble at that point.” 

“I-I, I don’t…  _ feel  _ that way about  _ any  _ man, let alone Madej. That guy pisses me off more than anything.” 

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. The first time we met him you looked like you were mentally undressing him. And I’m sure you think a little bit too much about that face of his. It’s the 60’s, Ry, we’re moving away from all that bullshit. But Madej is bad news. Don’t give that one your heart.”

Ryan let the advice go in one ear and out the other as Eugene chose a dark red suit for him. It was none of his friend’s business how he felt about Madej— if he thought about elegant, strong hands drawing him close to press a fierce kiss against his lips, or the way those lips would taste after a nice cup of wine. Really, none of Eugene’s business. 

“Wear your gold chain, black leather shoes, leave one or two buttons undone. Put on one of your nicer Rolexes. No hat, your hair looks good today. Go for your best Italian leather for the belt. Any other questions?”

Ryan shook his head, standing pantsless in his bedroom with the suit piled into his arms and a list of instructions. 

“Good. I gotta go now, have a couple guys to speak to and a date right after.”

Eugene was already walking away as the last few words sunk in. “Who the fuck you goin’ on a date with?” Ryan yelled after him, but his front door was shut and no answer was given. 

He put  _ The Velvet Underground & Nico  _ on the record player—one of his many guilty pleasures— and sat in his designated Reading Chair with whiskey that burned his throat in the perfect way to his read his first edition, signed copy of  _ Waiting for Godot.  _ He let time pass by in that senseless way it always does while reading— for a few hours, it ceased to exist. He finished reading the short play long before ten, and had since been watching TV comedies without paying any actual attention to the Abbott and Costello skit he’d already seen twice before. 

He was overflowing with anticipation by the time he called his personal driver to arrive at 10:48 precisely, and walked to the mirror to double-check everything. All the important things were in his pockets (it would be rude to bring a gun, he reasoned earlier, but foolish not to at least have a knife), and the manilla folder had been relocated to the coffee table before he locked his study and closed the blinds. 

He was overly prepared— just the way he liked it— as he took the elevator down to meet the man in a black suit waiting outside of the Maserati. Once relaxed in the backseat, folder secure on his lap, Ryan watched the pedestrians fly by and just thought. Mostly about Eugene’s comments. 

  
  
  
  


—— Part II ——

Ryan let the car door slam behind him and approached the building. It didn’t look like anything special, until you got to the inside, which was considerably well decorated. Ryan’s memories of visiting the restaurant ten or so years ago proved to be correct, for the restaurant still had a generally romantic feel to it. The tables were covered with white cloth, and from the ceiling beams hung hundreds of plants and off-white Christmas lights, which were, in fact, the  _ only  _ light in the restaurant aside from candles placed in the center of each table (accompanied by a white rose, of course).

He followed Madej’s instructions and approached the host, informed him that he was there for “private dining.” The short Italian man’s eyebrows rose, then he nodded and said, “right this way.”

Ryan was led through the kitchen and up the stairs, past a few doors until a door was opened for him at the very end. As he followed the host, a quote from  _ King Lear  _ popped into mind:  _ “that way madness lies.”  _ It was an annoying thought, specifically because it made him want to stop and sort out the reason why he was thinking of it  _ now,  _ but he would have to add it to the list of trains of thought being held up at the station. For now, he could only walk through the door. 

It was a small room, with a window overlooking the streets of Little Italy, still busy despite it being 11:00 precisely. Madej sat at the small table, decorated much the same way as the ones downstairs, with a few differences: specifically, the chairs looked much more expensive, and the flowers had been removed (the candle  _ was  _ lit, though). The room, too, only had a few inconsistencies. The artwork seemed  _ much  _ more expensive, for starters. The floorboards were shiny, and not as worn-down as the ones downstairs. The lighting was produced by a very simple chandelier, with no tacky Christmas lights (honestly, what an annoying trend). 

It definitely seemed like the kind of place that suited Madej, despite how little Ryan actually knew him. The man in question had been staring out the window, smoking a cigarette until Ryan came in. When he did, Madej turned and flashed a smile that was all pearly teeth, and lacked the expected fakeness. He sat across from Madej, his ability to take in the features of his counterpart’s face much better in proper lighting (and a better state of mind). 

His hair was just slightly unkempt— in a way that was clearly intentional, but came off as effortless— and his slight stubble did an unfortunately good job of highlighting his jawline. Those amber eyes he remembered so clearly had bags under them (“raccoon eyes,” supplemented something in the back of Ryan’s brain), although who didn’t in their profession? He was dressed much the same way as when they first met, save for a change in his watch, and an all black suit in place of the pinstripes. 

“Hey there, Madej.” Ryan reached his hand out, and felt  _ some  _ sort of emotion when Madej’s firm grip lingered for half a second too long.

“Why did you talk that way to Sara?” 

Madej’s response caught Ryan entirely off guard. He expected the regular exchange of formalities, discussion of what wine they’d be ordering, etc, etc. He really should have expected the unexpected from a man like Madej, though. Shame on Ryan.

“The fuck do you mean?”

“I mean, well. You asked her name, right? And then just… ended it there. Very rarely do I meet a man who wouldn’t be making  _ some  _ sort of comment along the likes of ‘sweetheart’ or ‘dollface.’ Even trying to get in her pants. But you didn’t give her any of that.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow at that, refused to let any of his thoughts show (and if his previous conversation with Eugene decided to resurface, well, that was nobody’s business, was it?). “Didn’t really see any point in flirting with a random receptionist.”

Madej nodded, gained a specific kind of smirk. “Interesting. Kind of a weird starter, I know. Sorry about that. What kinda wine you in the mood for?” 

_ There it is,  _ he thought to himself. “I’ll let you choose.” 

“I’ve been kind of in the mood for Pinot Noir— if you don’t mind, that is.” 

Ryan smiled and leaned back in his seat. “That sounds absolutely perfect.” 

Madej rung a bell Ryan had failed to notice on the table, and within four minutes they were being served by a waiter with the world’s cheesiest Italian mustache (Ryan was getting more reminders of why he hated Little Italy by the minute). Madej ordered for the both of them in Italian, winked at the waiter, and slipped what looked like a 20 into his hand when they shook. 

“So, this restaurant,” Ryan started, as Madej put out his cigarette in a glass ashtray with gold flecks. “Any specific reason you chose it?”

“Oh, lots of reasons,” he answered with a dismissive wave. “They know me here. I give ‘em pretty generous amounts of money, so it’s kind of my family’s go-to restaurant, especially for meetings. I was a bit worried you’d feel out of place, but it’s honestly one of our most secure public locations. Wouldn’t really have much to worry about, especially with… well, you know, everything with Steven.”

“...Oh.” 

“Why? Had something else been on your mind?”

Ryan looked away, suddenly embarrassed that he’d been so suspicious. “Well, uh… I kinda feel like an idiot, now, but I just thought you, y'know, did it on purpose. Had me come out here on your turf, that is.” 

Maj’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh, shit. I hadn’t thought about that aspect. You probably hate Little Italy, don’t you?”

Ryan shook his hand in a so-so motion, and he and Madej both shared a laugh. “I’m sorry if I was a little presumptuous. I’ve been told I can be a little paranoid at times.”

The waiter came back in, poured their wine, and left the bottle on the table. Some of the tension in the air seemed to ease, if only a small amount.

“To Steven,” Madej proposed, lifting his glass in the air.

“To Steven.”

\-------

As the night progressed, they ordered another bottle of wine while theories were expanded upon, scrapped, reconsidered, and so on. Madej pulled out a pack of Karelia Slims from his shirt pocket and offered one to Ryan. Their fingers brushed as he accepted the cigarette, a gold plated lighter already in Madej’s free hand. Ryan leaned forward, cigarette dangling from his lips as he let Madej light it for him. The flame was reflected in his eyes again, pupils larger than when Ryan had first entered the building.

Ryan found himself holding his breath, though for what he didn’t know. He glanced down to Madej’s lips, saw one trapped between his teeth. It was then that a hesitant knock was heard at the door. Madej flipped the lighter closed, slid it back into his suit pocket and leaned back in his seat. Ryan made sure to blow the smoke in his face before he, too, sat back and tried his best to relax into his seat. “Come on in,” Shane called out. 

A timid waiter opened the door, one arm holding a tray with two dishes that did, admittedly, look phenomenal. Ryan wondered if all the staff were shy and jittery, or if it was just from serving two mob bosses. He had his bets placed on the latter. 

The food was placed, the waiter bowed (kind of cheesy, but okay), and they were left alone once more. One the door shut, Ryan grabbed the manilla folder, and pulled out the pages of their last three possibilities: Jasmine Yates, Luis Gonzales, and Frank Alfonsi. “So, Madej—”

“Hol’ up there, Bergara.” Shane held his hand out, the slight slurring of his words just on the edge of unnoticeable. “We’re  _ well  _ past the formalities of last names. You can call me Shane.” 

Ryan nodded, stuck his hand out for the second time that night. “In that case, you can call me Ryan.”

Shane laughed lightheartedly as Ryan took another drag from his cigarette. He’d have to get a pack of Karelia Slims, he thought to himself. Much smoother than the Benson & Hedges he usually smoked. “So when I handed you the file, you mentioned that you recognize one of these people?”

Shane nodded, face now turning serious. “Damn right I recognize one of ‘em. Yates, although with me she went by Lucy. To put it delicately, she’s been in love with me for years. Downright  _ obsessive,  _ that chick is, and crazier than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh shit. What came of it?” Ryan really hoped he just sounded friendly. He was trying to be, anyway, squashing down the butterfly of hope that decided to settle in between his heart and ribcage. It wouldn’t do to be thinking those kinds of thoughts. They belonged in that locked box he kept saved away in his mind; the one with every secret affection, every moment of lust or infatuation he felt towards any man. The one with the times in high school he jacked off thinking about getting pounded in the ass by the kid next to him in science class. Shane Madej’s warm, flame-reflecting eyes and those strong hands that could do  _ everything  _ to his body belonged in that box.

He would’ve done a damn good job of it, too, if Shane hadn’t opened his mouth. “I rejected her right off the bat. You don’t seem as closed-minded as the rest of your family, so I’ll let you in on a little secret. Women… aren’t exactly my area of expertise, if you catch my drift.” 

“Oh,” Ryan said dumbly, eyebrows furrowed as he took it in. The realization hit him square in the chest, nearly knocked out all his breath as those tied down thoughts completely flooded his brain. All those others in the box were gonna have some water damage at the end of this one. “Oh, alright. That’s fine, I-I, y’know. I don’t really give a shit about any of that.” 

“Good. I knew you wouldn’t.” Shane picked up the wine glass, those hands rudely stealing all of Ryan’s attention, which was the only reason he noticed the all too subtle tremble to his fingers. Shane Madej was nervous. 

It would be impolite to comment on this fact, but Ryan made a mental note of it. Shane doesn’t appear to be half as cold-hearted and intimidating as he claims, it seems. “Back to Yates, I uh… I take it she wasn’t too happy with the rejection?” 

“Damn straight. The next day when I went to my office to take care of… stuff… there was a rose covered in blood— human blood, I had someone check— and a note telling me how awful I am, how I’m missing the opportunity of a lifetime, yadda yadda yadda.” 

“Aw shit, how could you say no to that? I would’ve been in love with her  _ immediately.”  _ Ryan punctuated that sentence with a sip of wine and a smug smile. 

“Yeah, right? I didn’t even answer the bitch, just kept the two things in some compartment and forgot about it. Kept getting all these love letters from her, along with a bunch of threats and shit like that. I never answered her. Oh! And then a month or two ago, one of her letters was  _ begging  _ me for an answer, so I wrote back saying I’ll never feel the same way, you’re just annoying me, all that stuff. Next thing I know she’s knocking at the door of our Casino,  _ demanding  _ to speak to me, because she  _ knows  _ my office is up there. I wasn’t even in the building then, I was threatening the guy who owns that gay bar over on 45th and 3rd, he was long overdue on payments. But Kornfeld was there for the whole thing, and she threw a goddamn fit. Promised that she would personally see to the end of me and my whole family, or some shit like that.”

“Damn, this bitch sounds  _ really  _ fucking crazy.” 

“Without a doubt.” 

Ryan noticed Shane had a pen in his shirt pocket, though mostly construed by his jacket. “Do— do you mind if I just…” he leaned over to grab the pen, all too aware of the fact that his hands lingered a few seconds too long on Shane’s chest. 

He scribbled down some downright unreadable shorthand, a brief reminder of everything Madej had mentioned about her and her craziness. “I better get that pen back, Ryan.” 

“Well just for that, I wanna keep it now.”

Shane rolled his eyes and stuck a hand out. In a moment of pure maturity, Ryan slowly licked the pen (eye contact unwavering) and placed it in Shane’s outstretched palm. 

“Wow, real funny, Bergara.” 

Ryan snickered anyways, pushed the pages he’d been looking at to Shane. “Anything else we should consider about her?” 

Shane picked up the papers with interest. He was genuinely thinking hard, then, biting his lip (a habit of his that would probably kill Ryan one day) as his eyes scanned the pages. Ryan watched him intently as he sipped his wine. At some point, Shane started scribbling, then, as he thought some more, gently bit the end of the pen. When he looked up and made eye contact with Ryan, he let out a soft chuckle and pulled the pen away. “Sorry. Bit of a habit.” 

They both kindly ignored the fact that Shane hadn’t bothered to clean off the pen before using it. 

Ryan pulled the pages back, offered the overviews on Alfonsi and Gonzales to Shane as he frantically ordered what Shane had so haphazardly stacked. They talked more about theories, what incriminated each suspect and what made them seem innocent. The main issue was that each of them had equal amounts of evidence in both categories. Yates has a clear motivation, but even better alibis. Alfonsi has next to no alibi, and was more than vocal on his views of La Eme (it’s a miracle he’s not lying in a ditch somewhere just for that), but the only reason he would incriminate the Madejs was easily dismissed, the main issue being a petty argument that had broken out years ago, but was unheard of since. Gonzales was the most Anti-Madej it got, specifically when Shane became the boss. Shane told Ryan that his older brother, Scott, picked on Gonzales a little too much (“might have scammed him out of a couple thousand too,” he had mentioned offhand), earning himself a lifelong vendetta. Gonzales has a clear reason to want chaos with La Eme, too. Months overdue on payments from reselling their smuggled LSD, it would prove to be a good distraction if there were to be months spent dealing with such a sudden change. The only problem was that he had a rock-solid alibi. 

Swears found their way out through mouthfuls of pasta, promises were made to follow up on other leads that were slightly off-topic, and the second wine bottle was drained by the time they couldn’t eat anymore. They reached that awkward point in the meal, where they either had to say goodbyes or find some desperate excuse to keep it going. 

“So… Ryan,” Shane started as he downed what remained of his glass. “We should, fuckin’, uh. You should come back to my place.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” 

Shane’s hand was sloppily placed on his shoulder, a heavy weight on Ryan’s toned muscles. It sent a shiver down his spine. “You don’t think anyone’s gonna assume somethin’?”

  
“Pshh, nah. We’re just gonna be discussing theories, right?” 

“Right.”

Shane nodded and rang the bell, the wait considerably shorter this time (or maybe it just felt shorter with fascinated eyes locked on his face) as a check was placed in front of Shane. 

“Oh, let me get that,” Ryan said, reaching out for the check. Shane pulled it back before his fingers barely even grazed. 

“No way. My treat.”

“Bullshit! C’mon, I just inherited thousands, I fuckin’ got it, man.”

“Ryan, please. I  _ insist.  _ I didn’t wanna pull this card, but I get… heavily discounted here. Really, money is no object.” 

Ryan crossed his arms and huffed out a breath of frustration. “I’m paying the next time, then.”

“Oh? You’re telling me you want a next time?”

“What? I-I, uh, y’know, we-we  _ gotta  _ meet again soon to, uh, to figure out all the rest of this—”

Shane laughed and cut off Ryan’s ramblings with a wave of his hand. “I’m just yanking your chain, Bergara. I’ll give you my personal phone number, if you’d like. Won’t have to go through Sara to speak to me.”

“Sounds delightful,” he responded, voice heavy with sarcasm. Shane took it well, though, and laughed like he hadn’t been insulted at all. 

“Let’s get going, then? Shane said as he stood and offered a hand to Ryan. He glanced at it, but stood on his own, feeling somewhat weird taking it with the waiter next to them. “You can put it on my tab, Leo.”

The waiter nodded and smiled, then moved to get the door. Ryan followed Shane out of the restaurant, watched him wave down a red car, and they both got in the backseat. Ryan noticed Shane’s knee touched his the whole ride there, but he never said anything. 

\---------

The first thing Ryan noticed when he entered Shane’s apartment was the dark, polished hardwood floors. Next was the subtle white walls littered with expensive pop art. Most of the furniture was a mix of blacks, whites, and reds, and even his bookshelf managed to stick to that pattern. Ryan wondered if everything on it was for show.

“You can leave your shoes at the door, if you’d like, or keep ‘em on. Your call, really. Want a drink?” 

And really, who was Ryan to refuse a drink? 

So he and Shane talked theories over beer bottles on the couch. Right leg crossed over his left, Ryans black sock was apparently starting to slip, but he hadn’t noticed until Shane reached over to fix it. “This has been annoying me for the past five minutes…” He trailed off when he looked up at Ryan’s eyes, hand still lingering on his ankle. 

Once again, that lip was between his pearly white teeth.  _ He’s gonna get a split lip if he keeps doing that,  _ Ryan thought without meaning to. Those eyes trapped Ryan in the moment, a million thoughts flying through his head. Shane’s hand trailed up, slowly, stopping when it was at his knee. “Shane, I…” Ryan was breathless, he realized, heart running a marathon as it slammed against his chest and echoed through his head. “Is this a good idea? I-I mean, it’s kind of—”

“What’s the matter, Bergara?” Shane questioned. “You scared of being with a guy?” One eyebrow was raised, eyes displaying cockiness and something else that fell about two inches short of condescending. 

“No! Well, that specific thing is like, er, I haven’t exactly… acted on those impulses of mine before. I’ve been with girls. Just haven’t… nevermind that. What I mean is, we— you— I just, it doesn’t bother me for the reason you  _ think,  _ but our families have subtly hated each other for decades. W-would this really be the smartest option?” 

Shane let a hand rest against Ryan’s cheek. “How about we save that conversation for tomorrow?” 

Ryan snapped. He surged forward, pressed his lips against Shane’s with a ferocity that rarely came out in situations outside of work. Shane reciprocated immediately, the hand on his face holding him tighter as a hand slid up his thigh. 

The manilla folder was left on Shane’s coffee table, forgotten.

\--------

Ryan Bergara woke up at 11:00 am on a Tuesday, on dark gray sheets whose threat count had to be at least 4 digits and underneath a white down comforter. The curtains were drawn, but some sunlight managed to seep through— just enough that Ryan could clearly see the glass of water next to him and ibuprofen tablets. He downed them as quickly as he could, already feeling that dull pounding at the base of his skull. The blanket fell away from his shoulders when he sat up, exposing his bare chest to the air that was a touch too cold. 

Memories of last night flooded his mind, and he leaned back with his eyes closed, wishing he’d had the foresight to bring  _ something  _ with him that could make his overactive heart slow the fuck down (is it too early in the morning for alcohol?). Deep breath in, deep breath out. That’s what it said in all the self-help books piled in his nightstand drawer, anyways. He counted each breath until he got to thirty, threw the blanket off his body, and instantly regretted it when cold air hit is (yep, fully naked) skin. 

After a quick peek around the room, he found Shane’s closet and opened it. He didn’t see what he wanted there, so he checked the dresser drawers and emerged victorious with a pair of dark green pyjama pants. Going through his clothing may have been invasive, but then again, the man’s penis was, in fact, in his ass last night, so hopefully, Shane could let it slide.

He grabbed his socks off the floor, too, starting to feel that late September chill in his toes. Ryan decided that amount of clothing would do, and opened Shane’s bedroom door to find the man in question on the couch, a cup of coffee in hand as  _ Star Trek  _ played on the TV. He turned his head when he saw Ryan, green pants covering his feet entirely. “I, uh… I didn’t really know what to put on, I hope you don’t mind.” Ryan scratched the back of his head as he spoke, feeling weird and self-conscious. 

Shane put his cup of coffee on the ground, stood up, and crossed the room to Ryan. He didn’t stop until their chests were pressed together, cupped Ryan’s face in his hands, and kissed him deeply. Ryan felt like he could get used to this. Shane pulled away, one thumb stroking his cheek as he spoke, quietly. “You freaking out yet?”

“I’m on my way there.” 

Shane laughed, pecked Ryan on the lips again, then turned to sit back on the couch. His hand dragged down Ryan’s chest as he walked away. “There’s some coffee in the pot, if you’d like. I have some creamer and half & half in the fridge, sugar’s on the counter in a little jar, help yourself.” His eyes were already trained on the show again, an episode Ryan saw last week that involved the main characters, ironically enough, becoming part of the mafia. “I’ve been thinking, flipping through that folder of yours, comparing it to notes I got from Tiny Kornfeld. I’ll let you wake up some more before we get into that, though.” 

Ryan didn’t know what to do with all the information, so he just nodded and walked into the small (but fashionable) kitchen to get a cup. He did his best to block out the weirdness of making your morning coffee, an extremely familiar task, in the kitchen of what very well may be a one night stand; unfamiliar territory. While he stirred the coffee in the red mug with weird white shapes, about every alarm imaginable was set off in his brain. He ignored the alarms though, put on earmuffs as he brought his mug over to the couch. 

With one final deep breath in, Ryan forced himself to go through a mood shift. He sat so that his thigh was pressed directly against Shane’s, sipping his coffee smugly. He’d gotten good at pretending over the years, a skill he was more than glad to have now. It might all blow up when he was home, like it did three years ago, but he was more than content to ignore it until then. For now, he just sipped his coffee with his left hand, and let his right rest on Shane’s thigh, dangerously close to his dick. 

“Mmph, what’re you doin’ there baby?” 

“I’m not doin’ anything.” The sounds of phasers firing and a dramatic swell of music came from the TV, but Ryan had other preoccupations. 

“You lookin’ for more? I would’ve thought you’d be sore after last night.” 

Ryan felt his cheeks heat up a little bit as he kept slowly trailing his fingers up Shane’s thigh. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.” 

“You’re such a tease,” Shane mumbled, grabbing Ryan’s mug out of his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey! What’re you doing? Give that back!” Ryan yelled as Shane put both their coffees on the short table next to the couch (you may be wondering why Shane had put his coffee on the floor earlier when there was a table right there; the truth is, Ryan had no idea why Shane did  _ anything,  _ let alone put his cup on the ground).

Shane ignored Ryan’s protests, grabbed his face, and pulled Ryan in for a long kiss. The same breath was exchanged through heavy exhales and inhales as they sat there, Shane’s tongue slipping into Ryan’s mouth, Ryan quietly moaning into Shane’s. He didn’t remember when, but at some point, he had crawled into Shane’s lap, was straddling him on the couch. Warm hands slid up his back, held him firmly in place. 

It was while they were intertwined in a moment of pure intimacy that the door to Shane’s apartment swung open. Ryan jerked back, horrified— he nearly fell backward, but Shane’s arm wrapped tightly around his waist and caught him just before. “Sara! The fuck did I tell you about knocking first?” 

“Sorry, Shane. Who’s this?” 

“Wait,” Ryan started, one hand on Shane’s chest for balance. “Is this the same Sara that takes your calls?” 

The woman— Sara— visibly brightened when she heard his voice. She walked further into the room, which gave Ryan a much better view. She wore light blue, high waisted slacks, a white button-up that looked all too hastily tucked in, and a fashionable (not to mention expensive) pair of glasses. Her dark brown, curly hair was pulled back and out of her face, and she carried herself in a way that would make an older woman weep for social reform. “You bet I am. Are you Ryan?”

“Sara,” Shane groaned, “can you  _ please  _ leave us alone? I thought you were staying over at that girl’s house.”

“Her husband came home early, I had to jet.” 

Shane shook his head, but seemingly made no move to get Ryan off of him. “Whatever, just… please go like, make yourself a coffee or read in your room. It’s too early for your bullshit, and we have things to discuss.” 

“Oh, yeah, because you guys were  _ sooo  _ busy when I walked in.” 

Shane made sure to flip her off as she walked away, in the opposite direction of his bedroom. He sighed, turned to Ryan with hands gripping his waist tightly, and leaned in for one more short kiss. “How about we discuss theories?”

\------- 

The discussion of theories went on for a while as they drained the coffee pot and drew connections. They were able to cross out Gonzales as a possibility (his alibi was too strong, despite him having the best motivation), leaving them with Yates and Alfonsi. They wrote down whatever notes they could on both suspects, and agreed they’d send some people to check out each one, tail them a bit, talk to people who know them. 

Ryan was organizing all the papers they’d pulled out and written all over when Shane cleared his throat, awkwardly standing out of the way. “Y’know, Ryan, I uh… usually, if a guy spends the night, I kinda kick ‘em out first thing in the morning, give some bullshit excuse about roommates. But I really didn’t wanna do that to you. In fact, I’ve been thinkin’ to myself that I quite like having you around. So I was just a little curious to see if, uh, maybe you wanted to do this again sometime?” 

Ryan smiled and straightened up, previously scattered papers in two neat piles on the coffee table. “I’d like that a lot, Shane. It’s just that… I have to sort out a few things of my own before I can go sneaking around, y’know? It’s a lot of work to maintain something like this, and I-I’m interested, god knows how much you captivate me, but I think we should wait until everything with my dad is settled, yeah?” 

Shane nodded, the look on his face unreadable. “Yeah, okay, cool. I-I get that.” 

Ryan took the few steps necessary to close the gap and gave Shane a short, sweet kiss. “I’ll call you, okay? I promise.” 

And with that, Ryan gathered up his stack of papers, and walked out the door.

  
  
  
  


—— Part III ——

Ryan didn’t hear from Shane again until 10:00 at night, three days later.

He’d been half asleep in his desk chair, documents spread all across his desk. Woken up at five in the morning, he’d checked up on one of their bars and met Curly and Eugene for breakfast at one of their ally’s restaurants, to share what he and Shane had figured out. There was no rest between that breakfast and this afternoon, which consisted of meetings with just about everybody involved with La Pinche Eme. He didn’t even get home until an hour ago, and had spent the whole time desperately trying to figure out the last few puzzle pieces. All in all, Ryan Bergara’s had a long fucking day. So when he was pulled out of sleep by the little black telephone ringing, he just didn’t have it in him to be polite. 

“Ay, this is Bergara speakin’, who the fuck is this?” 

“Good to hear you too, babe.” 

Shane’s voice on the other line made Ryan perk up considerably, now sitting up straight. “Shane? What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I figured out who it is. Can you meet me somewhere?” 

Ryan smiled and tried to smooth down his hair. “Sure, but I’m way too tired to move. How about you come to my place?” 

“Damn, Ryan, not even gonna properly wine and dine me?” 

“Shut the fuck up, Shane, it’s ten on a Thursday, and I’ve been up since five. Let me live.” 

Shane laughed on the other end— a melodic sound, one that completely captivated Ryan. “Alright, you old man—”

_ “I’m younger than you.” _

“—You cool if I get there in like, fifteen minutes? Or you need time to get ready?”

“No, no, I’ll get up off my ass and get myself more presentable,” Ryan yawned, now starting to stretch one arm. “Your phone line’s safe, yeah? I don’t gotta worry if I tell you my address over the phone?” 

Shane assured him that he has his phone checked regularly enough, so Ryan gave him instructions, hung up, and went to make a cup of coffee. 

The panic had been trying its hardest to settle in for a while, but Ryan’s kept pushing it back, kept assuring himself he’d let it out tonight, tomorrow, next week, once he just did _ this one last thing. _ He’s been using alcohol, hash, Xanax, any depressant he can get his hands on to calm his steadily growing nerves. 

Ryan wanted to push it back down again— Shane would be here in fifteen minutes, for Christ’s sake— but no matter how hard he was trying (god knows he was), the wave hit him. He tried to shove whatever he could back into the overflowing box of emotion deep in his chest, but the lock was broken, and everything he pushed down since the wedding came spilling out, like Ryan’s heart was an oil rig that burst in the ocean. He was drowning in it, liquid filling his lungs as he sobbed in the kitchen, trying to get some of that water out through tears and gasping breaths. He wept for his father, whose life was cut much too short on his baby cousin’s big day. He wept from the stress that comes with taking over  _ La fucking Eme  _ and not being allowed to fully mourn. He wept from the years he spent repressing and ignoring his obvious bisexuality, and how he’d thrown away those careful years of tiptoeing around his attraction in an instant for some sexy Italian boss. Most of all, he wept because he knew almost every problem arising was his own fault. He shook and choked on his own tears, head pounding, stomach ripping itself apart, fingers trembling as he tried to press the button to brew the coffee. 

He gripped the counter with one hand and surrounded himself with sensations; the bitter smell of black coffee, the cold granite, the distant sounds of the TV he accidentally left on when he went to his office. As the kitchen spun much too quickly for his liking, and his breath never fully reached his lungs, Ryan did the only thing he was sure he needed to do—stop standing right then and there. This led to him kneeling in his kitchen, feeling the freezing tiles dig in harshly, but also coming up empty when he tried to care about it. 

Ryan Bergara, son to the dearly departed Steven Bergara, brand new boss of La Eme, 28 year old who’s killed at least 30 people and scheduled the death of hundreds, curled up into a ball on his kitchen floor, wrapped his arms around himself, and desperately drew in gasping breaths as hot salty tears still managed to stream out of his eyes, soaking his nice shirt and causing snot to run down his face. Ugly, defeated whimpers left him between desperate intakes of breath and choked off sobs. Oh, if only his dad could see him now. 

Ryan had no idea how long he spent there, crying in his empty apartment at 10:20 pm. He stayed like that long after the crying subsided, drained of all energy. Then he heard three sharp knocks on the door and jumped up to his feet (a bad idea, considering how dizzy it made him). “Hello? Ryan? Did I get the right apartment? Sorry I’m late, traffic fucking sucks.”

“Oh, uh, j-just a second!” Was his frantic response, voice raspy and slightly broken. 

“Ryan? Are you alright in there?”

_ Shit, Ryan. He can’t know you were crying. Come up with some dumb excuse why you can’t come to the door.  _ “I, uh, I was… jacking off?” 

Shane took a while to answer, but when he did, he sounded downright incredulous. “Dude, we had  _ sex  _ a few nights ago, and that’s why I can’t come in?”

Ryan knew he wasn’t fooling Shane, but also had no idea how to get out of this situation. “I-I, ah, y’know… I don’t look entirely presentable, and um, I-I really don’t want you to see me like this. I kinda look really gross right now.”

“C’mon, Ryan, just open up.” 

He wiped his eyes against his shirt sleeve, tried to still his trembling hands, and opened the door. 

**Shane look just as disheveled as Ryan had before his mini-meltdown. His white button-up shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves messily rolled up and three buttons were undone (almost like he’d been in a haste to put it on). He had no belt on, and one of his expensive loafers was left untied. His hair itself looked like it was dried in a wind tunnel, might even be slightly damp. When he finally took in Ryan’s appearance, Shane’s whole demeanour softened. His eyes grew warmer, his shoulders relaxed, and he reached out his hand in a way that seemed involuntary. “Ryan, I…” 

“I know, I-I look like a mess,” Ryan laughed. He stepped aside for Shane to come in, but the man just stood there, face displaying  _ so many _ emotions, yet Ryan couldn’t identify any of them. 

Shane finally took a step forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Ryan. He kicked the door closed, lightly rubbing Ryan’s back. “Oh,  _ Ryan.  _ What’s— What’s the matter sweetheart, huh?” He pulled back to gently rub his knuckles against Ryan’s cheek the fondest expression in the world on his face.

_ “‘Sweetheart?’  _ In what way am I a sweetheart?” 

Shane chuckled, pressed a quick kiss to Ryan’s cheek. “You are  _ such  _ a sweetheart, don’t deny it.”

Ryan rolled his eyes at Shane. He didn’t want to be accepting his comfort— what had happened between him and Shane the other night was purely sexual in nature. Every event that unfolded was driven by a surge of lust, not any actual  _ feelings.  _ So then why did it feel so good to have these arms around his waist? “I’m really conflicted right now on whether or not I should be truthful.” 

“I’d appreciate it if you would.”

Ryan nodded, buried his face into Shane’s collarbone. “I think I’m just gonna stay here for a while,” Ryan mumbled into his shirt. 

Shane laughed and held him tighter, used one hand to gently play with his hair. “How about I make us a cup of tea and you go sit on the couch for a second?” 

Ryan nodded and made his way to the couch, face heating considerably. He’s  _ never  _ lost it in front of someone that wasn’t immediate family. But someone who not only is the boss of the Madejs, but that he’s known for a few weeks and had sex with  _ three days ago?  _ He was beyond mortified. 

As a hummingbird stayed caged in his chest, thumping against his flesh at 200 beats per minute, he listened to the sounds of Shane milling about in the kitchen. “Hey, where's the teabags?” Shane called out. 

“Cabinet above the coffee pot,” Ryan mumbled as loud as he could muster. 

“Okay, sounds cool— this is a full pot, Ryan, did you make some earlier?” 

“Uhhh… long story there.”

Shane seemed content with that answer— either that or didn’t have it in him to argue for the full story. Regardless of which it was, Ryan stayed curled up and let Shane be in charge of making their tea. An old episode of  _ The Twilight Zone  _ was playing, but Ryan couldn’t tell you what it was about. Everything was static in his head, the whole world fuzzy. He didn’t realize Shane had made his way over until a blanket was draped over him and two hands gently picked up his head. Shane sat down next to Ryan, letting him rest his head in his lap. “You wanna drink your tea or just stay here a while?” 

Ryan didn’t know how to answer as long fingers carded through his hair. On the one hand, he’d never been so relaxed in his whole life— or at least since the wedding. On the other hand, he was Ryan Bergara, so should he really be allowing himself this comfort when he had a job to do? When he was expected to be strong? 

When Shane spoke next, it was like he was reading Ryan’s thoughts (and maybe he was). “You don’t have to talk right now, Ryan. If you just need to take a second and get your shit together enough to speak, then y’know… I get that.”

Ryan shook his head, cleared his throat in hope that he’d sound a bit less raspy. “I… I don’t know what I want right now. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have let you see me like this in the first place, it’s really rare that I break down, and I  _ especially  _ shouldn’t be— be laying in your lap like this. I’m supposed to be strong, and-and I really shouldn’t be feeling what I am right now. It’s— we— I, it’s probably nothing between us, right? It’s purely sexual, I-I’m reading too much into it, and I should just be shoving all this back down.” 

“Oh,  _ Ryan.”  _ Shane’s voice expressed nothing but heartache. “I… it should be too early to tell, shouldn’t it be? We’d only seen each other twice before I took you back to my place, and after you left, I thought I was so foolish. I mean, falling for someone when we were supposed to be looking for his father’s killer? Idiotic. I haven’t even let myself feel that way in years, not after the last guy I thought I loved got shot by his father. I was totally ready to put all those feelings behind me, especially with what you said about— you know, sneaking around, and having to deal with all of this stuff. I’m not  _ soft,  _ I’m not supposed to be. I should’ve walked in here, seen you a mess, and politely closed the door. Walked away, even. It’s not— well you see— I, as the second-highest-ranking man in the Madejs— I really shouldn’t be doing this, should I?”

Shane paused and brought the mug to his lips— a way too tacky  _ Gilligan’s Island  _ mug (it was a gift he’d received from Curly for Christmas, and used only for the humor of it). Ryan could see the slight tremor of his hands. “I’m sorry for… well, for a lot of things, Ryan. But mostly for getting you drunk, and taking you to bed like that, even though you said you’d never been with a guy. It was selfish. Way too much for someone to handle when they’re also mourning the death of their father,  _ and  _ coming into power.”

They were silent for a while. Shane’s hands never stopped playing with his hair. “I don’t regret it,” Ryan whispered. 

“You don’t?”

“No, not at all, actually. I’ve just been ignoring everything, let myself be consumed by rage and a sense of duty for so long that I didn’t have time to feel sad. So it kind of… came all at once.” 

Shane nodded and picked up Ryan’s head, just enough to place a soft kiss against his cheek. “I understand.” 

Ryan gave himself another minute before he sat up, wiped his eyes, and turned to Shane. “So, you said you know who it is?” 

Something changed in Shane’s eyes, then. A shift from soft and caring to purely determined. “Yes. I wasn’t sure at first, a little scared I was biased from personal experience, but I’m 100% sure now. It’s Yates. Has to be. Alfonsi makes a lot of sense, especially with how much he hated La Eme, but I asked Scott and he hasn’t even  _ seen  _ Alfonsi in years. But Yates… she promised she’d destroy me, of course she’d blame his murder on the Madejs. Furthermore, she knows  _ nothing  _ about us, aside from that I’m in charge, so it makes sense that she’d think we’re into that calling card bullshit. And she hated all of your politics, especially the way Steven was running things. Maybe she thought you’d all be thrown into chaos, or maybe she knew you were next in line and wanted to get it over with. Whatever it is, I have no doubts that she’s the one responsible.”

Ryan nodded, reached over Shane to grab his cup of tea (his own mug was one of his tackiest cups, period. A white mug that said in black text,  _ (coffee) bean me up, Scotty) _ . “It makes a lot of sense. I was leaning toward Yates, too, but my dad always taught me to never rule out any possibility. I think you’re definitely right, though. Do you know where Yates is now?” 

Shane scratched the back of his neck, looked away from Ryan’s eyes. “About that. I… arranged a meeting with her, of sorts.” 

“You did  _ what?!” _

“I found one of her old letters, used the return address, and told her to meet me at Paesano’s. Scheduled to happen next week.”

“Shane, she’s fucking crazy. You realize that, right? She might try to hurt you. I-I can’t let you take that kind of risk.” 

Shane just shook his head. “It’s kind of my fault though, isn’t it? I should be the one to handle this. If you wanna take her out yourself, that’s fine, I’ll deliver her to you. But she’s bound to be more hostile towards a Bergara than me.”

“Then I— I’m sending Sweetheart with you. Lim’s one of our best undercover guys, has that sweet little face of his but is entirely ruthless. She won’t know him.” 

Shane considered the offer, worry etched into every feature of his face. “I, I don’t know. She and I have to be alone if I want her to trust me.” 

They were silent for a few moments, but then Ryan got an idea. “I know what we’re going to do.” 

\----

One week later, Ryan Bergara was wearing his best suit. He wanted to look good when avenging his father. He even wore his dad’s favourite watch, given to him after the funeral. 

Everybody who’d be involved tonight was in the living room of Shane’s apartment. Shane and Ryan, of course, but they also had Sara,  Ilnyckyj (who preferred Andrew, because nobody could spell or pronounce his name, Ryan found out) , and Steven Lim. Sara had joined them a few minutes ago, after getting dolled up for the night. Steven and Andrew were in costume already as well, outfits Shane had picked up directly from the restaurant. They matched perfectly, wearing white shirts, black vest and bowtie, black slacks, and (big surprise there) a short black apron around the front. For the last minute, Steven had been  _ begging  _ to wear a fake mustache, but Ryan assured him he’d just look stupid (Andrew had looked fully ready to disagree, but offered no input). 

But  _ Shane— _ Shane looked unfairly attractive tonight. It was a simple outfit, really— black suit, white shirt, and a tie, but he pulled it off a million times better than anyone he’s ever seen. For the past twenty minutes, Ryan’s been resisting the urge to climb into his lap and kiss him senseless. 

The small group was going over the plan one final time before they’d officially put it into motion. Steven and Andrew would have to go to Paesano’s first (Steven was to be “trained” by Andrew throughout the night), about thirty minutes before Shane’s arrival. Shane would be waiting in the private dining room when Yates arrives, holding a bouquet of roses and wearing a sheepish smile. All Shane really  _ needed  _ to do was get her to drink at least half of her wine before Ryan and Sara could become part of the equation. While Shane was upstairs lowering her guard, Ryan and Sara would be on a “date” downstairs, served by the pair of waiters that disappeared frequently throughout the night. 

Everything was planned to the last, most unimportant detail. It was going to go off without a hitch. 

Confident that they were prepared enough, Ryan did his best to look worried and tapped on Shane’s shoulder. “Hey, uh, Shane? I-I just remembered something, but I uh…” he looked away for a second, putting way too much into this performance. “Can we talk in prívate? J-just, like, really quickly.” 

Shane’s eyebrows were furrowed deeply, his concern obvious. “Yeah. Yeah, of course we can. Can Andrew and Lim—”

_ “Steven.” _

“Sorry. Can Andrew and  _ Steven _ get going or should they stick around?” 

“No, they’re fine.” Ryan spoke much too quickly on purpose, playing up the nervousness. “It’s really only important for you to hear.” 

Shane nodded and turned away from Ryan. “Steven, Andrew. Do you have any more questions?” They both shook their heads, one accessory away from looking completely ridiculous. “Good. Get going, then. Someone’s already waiting for you outside.” 

They gathered up everything they needed that wasn’t already at the restaurant, went through a checklist with Shane, and made their way out the door. The second it was shut, Shane turned to Sara and said, “Your eyeliner sucks. Go fix it.” 

She rolled her eyes and stood up off the couch, still barefoot. “If you want alone time with your boytoy, you can just  _ say  _ it, Shane. I know my eyeliner’s fucking perfect.” 

“He— he’s not my  _ boytoy! _ ” Shane sputtered, cheeks growing pink. Sara didn’t answer him, just walked into her room and shut the door. “Ugh. That woman is hell-bent on embarrassing the fuck out of me.” 

Ryan snickered and scooted closer to Shane, until he could lay his head on the man’s shoulder if he wanted. “I may have been over-exaggerating earlier. I just wanted you alone for a few minutes.” 

Shane threw his head back in laughter at Ryan’s admission, eyes twinkling long after he’d finished laughing— a mix of entertainment and adoration. “I don’t know how I ever thought I could  _ not  _ fall for you when we first met, you clever bastard.”

Ryan still had on a self-satisfied smirk when Shane dipped his face gently and kissed him. Ryan all but melted, reduces to putty in Shane’s hands as those warm lips worked his mouth open, elicited soft gasps. He decided Shane Madej must be a dangerous man, if he was able to make Ryan fall apart like paper mache at the slightest touch. Sara yelled at them from her room, complaining that, “You guys can make out all you want  _ after  _ we take this bitch out.” 

Shane didn’t answer her, but he still pulled away (and politely ignored Ryan’s whines). “Is your heart beatin’ that fast just for me? Or are you worried about tonight?” Shane asked, one hand on Ryan’s chest. 

Ryan chuckled nervously. “I’m a bit concerned for you. She’s batshit, Shane. You don’t know what she’s gonna do. Plus like, if she starts making moves on you, what’re you gonna do? You can’t tell her to stop! She— she has to drink the wine for our plan to work, so you have to go along with all of it until then.” 

“Are you feeling jealous, Ryan?” 

“No! I’m not feeling jealous, you-you’re not my  _ boyfriend  _ or anything.” He saw something in Shane’s face drop, a quick change of emotion that was quickly covered up, but Ryan still saw it. He’d hurt Shane’s feelings. With some quick thinking, he figured the best way to fix that would be to contradict himself. “I’m-I’m not jealous  _ at all.  _ I just don’t want some cracked out cumwad putting her hands on you, and-and god  _ forbid  _ she tries to kiss you. I’d fuckin strangle her on the spot.” 

Shane gently ran his knuckles across Ryan’s cheek, eyes tender. “You’re definitely jealous. If it’ll make you feel better, though, I… I assure you, I won’t kiss her at all. Even if she’s climbing into my lap, even if she hasn’t touched the wine, I won’t kiss her.”

“You promise?” 

“I promise.”

Whether it was seconds, minutes or hours that passed with them just staring at each other, neither man knew. The moment was shattered like a thin pane of glass when Sara came back in and grabbed Ryan by the ear. “C’mon, loverboy. You can be gay later, we’ve got some shit to take care of. Let Shane go to the restaurant.” 

They stood off the couch and kissed once more. Shane brushed Ryan’s hair out of his eyes, and said with a sad sort of laugh, “See you soon, yeah?” 

Ryan rolled his eyes and gently pushed Shane out the door. This left him alone in Shane’s apartment with Sara, who looked like she wanted to kill the inventor of high heels as she shoved her feet into the sleek white shoes. With one final push, she got it and stood up. She looked stunning, in a pale blue dress that fell just above her knees. With a thick white belt around the waist and a subtle string of pearls, she seemed ready to be the Other Woman in an extramarital affair— both to the husband and the wife. 

“Okay, right.” Sara clapped a hand on Ryan’s shoulder as she spoke, glasses still on (though she said she planned to take them off). “So… when I’m going on a fake date for undercover shit, I usually have to go on this whole spiel about how it doesn’t mean anything, and I definitely don’t like them romantically. But you’re kind of fucking my roommate, so I don’t really need to give you that, right?”

Ryan laughed with his whole body at that, leaning on his knee for support. “No, no, I-I think we’re well past the point of establishing this date of ours means nothing.” 

Sara smiled widely, and Ryan understood why Shane was used to everybody flirting with her (and had been confused when Ryan didn’t). “Okay. Great. Let’s go to the restaurant.”

So Ryan and Sara got into the backseat of the sleek black car, drove at a snail’s pace to Little Italy, and they waited. It would take a while, which Ryan was prepared for, but he hadn’t been expecting Sara to strike up a conversation. Of all things, about their cat, Spock. _ _

“So, the last time you were over, I couldn’t help but notice you and Shane fell asleep on the couch. With Spock on your chest.” 

“Oh! Well, we— I— okay, so, we may have  _ planned  _ to have sex, but I guess I’m old now, so I was really tired and we watched TV instead. Then that little orange boy came up to me and now I understand love.” 

Sara hummed in thought, like she was discovering a serum for immortality. Then, she nodded and said, “If my baby boy trusts you, then I guess we can get along.”

It was interesting how just two sentences could help lead to what was almost friendship. 

By the time they got the signal to get seated at their table, Ryan was  _ almost  _ excited for the dinner. Or at least, for the part that would involve chatting with Sara. Definitely not the rest of it. 

They were at the table for twenty minutes before a duo of waiters stopped by their table. The taller one leaned in and whispered, “They just ordered the wine. Do you have it?”

“Yeah, it’s in my pocket. Thanks, Steven. Let us know when to go up there.” Ryan shook Steven’s hand, effectively slipping him a small ziplock bag that contained 1,000mg of crushed up quaaludes, to be mixed into Yates’ wine. “If you fuck this up, Lim, I’ll have to kill you myself.” 

“I won’t.” 

And with that, Steven and Andrew went upstairs with the second most dangerous item in the building. It left Ryan alone to stew in his anxiety, specifically about Shane. “So. Sara. I’m gonna get your opinion on this, but you better not relay it back to Shane, alright?”

Sara laughed and sipped her glass of water. “Sure thing, Ryan. What’s up?” 

“It… it should be too early for me to really  _ feel  _ anything for Shane, right? I mean, we-we’ve only been…  _ some  _ kind of thing for a week and a half, that’s not— well like, it just seems— ugh.” 

“You’re new to this, aren’t you, Ryan?” Sara asked after a moment’s contemplation.

“New to what?”

“The whole being with a man thing.”

“I… I mean, yes. But that’s not the problem! He keeps assuming it’s about  _ that  _ too, which okay, maybe a  _ little  _ part of me is a bit worried about all that shit, but it-it’s because of our  _ jobs,  _ the nature of our positions. I just… I know I shouldn’t rush into something with him, unless I’m sure it’s going  _ somewhere,  _ you know? But I feel like there just hasn’t been enough time.”

“Ryan… I’m telling you this  _ somewhat  _ as Shane’s best friend, but mostly as someone who’s been through some similar shit. You gotta take all those worries, and throw ‘em out the fucking window. Just do what you think is right. Now c’mon, I see Andrew waving us over.” 

She stood up and walked away, a solid five feet ahead by the time Ryan said to himself, exasperated, “I never  _ know _ what I think is right.” As much as he wanted to understand what she meant, analyze every word, they had a job to do. He could pick Sara’s brain later. 

By the time he caught up, Andrew and Steven were pulling submachine guns out of cabinets in the now evacuated kitchen. Sara reached under her dress to pull out her pistol, and if it were any other situation, Ryan would’ve laughed at the image. He, himself, pulled a pistol out of the back of his pants, made sure it was fully loaded before he took the stairs, leading his small group. 

His heart was pounding— in his chest, his ears, his head— but he just kept his finger on the trigger, slowly knocking on the door. The one which contained the two people, and the one event, that would ultimately shape the rest of his life, no matter  _ what  _ went down. When he heard Shane tell them to come in, Ryan made sure they were all in a line before he burst through the door. Shane was just pulling out his gun by the time they all entered the room, safety off.

All guns pointed at the woman who, in cold blood, had murdered Steven Bergara, it appeared Yates realized she was outnumbered. 

Every movement was slower than expected as she reached into the chest of her dark blue, floor-length dress, and pulled out a gun of her own. The second Ryan saw where she was pointing, Ryan opened fire. 

Ryan Bergara had no thought process just then. The only thing he knew was that Yates had already killed one person he loved, and he’d be damned if he let her kill the only other person in the world it seemed like he  _ could  _ start to love. So he shot Yates, again and again. He fully emptied his gun before even  _ considering  _ anything else. The now useless gun clattered to the floor as he ignored Yates’ bullet-ridden body and went to where Shane sat, bleeding steadily from his shoulder. 

He’s at his side in an instant, hands wrapping around Shane’s shoulder, from which there was a heavy flow of blood. He grabbed as tightly as he could, even when Shane cried out in pain at the touch. It hurt Ryan too, to see an ounce of pain on that beautiful face, but he knew it would hurt so much more to lose him. So he did what he’d always been best at, and ignored those feelings. 

“God fucking damnit, Shane. Stay with me here man. Listen up. Sara’s on her way to get the driver, and I’m gonna get you to the hospital, okay? So just… keep your eyes open for a bit, maybe squeeze my hand if it’ll help ignore the pain. I-I, fuck, I can’t get you into the car if I’m holding you like this. Lim!” Ryan motioned with his head for Steven to come over, all but ready to start screaming. “Hold his arm for a second.” 

Despite his hands being covered in blood, Ryan wasted no time in grabbing the two napkins off the table. They would not, he realized painfully, be enough to help the bleeding. He needed to tie something around it. Which is why, with minimal hesitation, Ryan ripped off the sleeve of his all-too-expensive button down. A $120 shirt could be replaced; Shane could not. 

He nudged Lim out of the way, put both of the napkins on top of the bullet wound, and wrapped the now ripped sleeve around them tightly enough that Shane would cease to feel his finger if it stayed that way for anything more than twenty minutes. A small price to pay, he rationed, as he used Shane’s better arm to get him out of the chair. With Shane Madej’s right arm now wrapped around his shoulders, and his own hand tightly gripping Shane’s waist, Ryan all but carried Shane all the way downstairs, through the kitchen and the hastily emptied restaurant ( _ they had probably scattered like rats when they heard the shots,  _ Ryan thought), and out the door to where Sara had gotten their car.

With Shane groaning in pain and resting all of his weight on him, Ryan ordered the driver to ignore every traffic law there is if it meant getting Shane to a hospital within the next five minutes. 

And so he did. The turns were sharp and caused more grunts from Shane, they ran more than three red lights, and had nearly hit a pedestrian, but in six minutes exactly, Ryan was hauling Shane into the emergency room. 

Met with blindingly white lights, Ryan brought him directly to the receptionist and said, “If you don’t operate on this man right  _ fucking  _ now, we’re gonna have some problems. He’s been shot in the shoulder.” 

Her eyes widened in fear as she took in the two men covered in blood that stood before her. “O-of course! Can I just, ah, get your names before I talk to the doctor?” 

“I’m Ryan Bergara. This is Shane Madej. Any more questions?” 

And because  _ nobody _ who lived so close to both mafia’s operations didn’t know who either was, she shook her head hastily and nearly tripped on her way to get a doctor. 

Ryan stayed in the waiting room the whole time. He was able to wash Shane’s blood off his hands (the hospital had been worried about him contracting blood-borne diseases, but he assured them he hadn’t been injured), but he was still sitting with his left sleeve completely torn off from the bicep down, suit jacket draped over the back of his chair. He spent the whole wait anxious, worried that he did it  _ wrong  _ somehow, that he hadn’t taken care of Shane the right way (despite all the friends he’s saved from bullet wounds), and that he was possibly going to lose this man. 

It was then, as a doctor came out with a smiling face to inform Ryan  _ “the operation was a success”  _ that he realized his feelings for Shane went well beyond infatuation. 

Ryan Bergara loved Shane Madej.

  
  
  
  


—— Epilogue ——

It had taken a full 20 minutes for Eugene to convince Curly to come down to the hospital. 

His friend had complained about it non stop, whining that “Madej’s scum, always has been, always will be,” and, “We don’t owe that prick  _ anything,  _ we could be doing so many better things right now.” 

They were through the doors of the hospital when Eugene fully shut down Curly’s complaints. “Listen here, Viper. I don’t care  _ what  _ you think about Madej, because there are three things that are important right now. Number one, Ryan likes him. If he’s friends with Ryan, we  _ gotta  _ give the guy a chance. You know Ryan’s not careless about who he trusts. Number two, this man is the only reason we were able to find Yates, and kill Steven’s murderer. Like it or not, we couldn't have done it without his help. Number  _ three,”  _ Eugene paused to let the receptionist know where they were going, Curly trailing behind as he made his way to the elevator. “He managed to do all that, without putting Ryan in any danger. He put himself alone in a room with that psycho chick for over a half-hour, voluntarily, and he protected our friend, our  _ boss.  _ So, the guy deserves more than a little respect. And above all else, we  _ definitely  _ owe Madej an apology.” 

Eugene’s rant was over by the time he reached room 314. He noticed that this wing of the hospital was almost entirely empty, every patient quiet in their rooms. The sound of a hundred heart monitors was nearly deafening as Eugene took the final step. His hand was just above the door, ready to knock, when he looked through the small window of the door and froze completely.

Ryan Bergara, son to the recently avenged Steven Bergara, the young yet ruthless boss of La Eme, 28-year-old who’s now killed 31 people with his own gun, was sitting in Shane Madej’s lap, and was kissing him like it was the end of the world. 

Eugene smiled and made a mental note to tease Ryan about having been right. “C’mon, Curly,” he said, tugging his friend away from the door by the shirtsleeve. “We have bigger things to worry about.”

**Author's Note:**

> I… sincerely apologize. This was kind of rushed because my laptop broke for An Amount of time ((the time is ongoing, this bitch is having a homie post this for her smh)), and I’m also wayy passed the due date o o p s. That being said, I’m sort of considering making this into a series so I can expand on things that weren’t fully covered. Lmk if any of y’all would be interested :)   
Also, message me on tumblr at trash-lez! Tell me about your day or your pet or somethin’, I love talking to people!!!


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